


five times harry had regrets...

by Wintertree



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Cannon Compliant (Mostly), M/M, Other Ryder Twin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 15:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintertree/pseuds/Wintertree
Summary: ...and one time scott did





	five times harry had regrets...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



i.

“ _Doc, please_ ,” Scott ‘says,’ voice cool and chirpy as it filters through the speakers Harry had installed last week. “ _I’m so scared. I’ve been asleep for so long._ ”

Harry sighs and continues scanning his medchart. “No.”

“ _Really, doc? You would deny a sick man’s one wish? Do you realize how humiliating I must look right now?_ ” Scott lets the moment sit, awkward in the air. “ _What’s a little nose hair trimming between friends?”_

“Slippery slope, Scott.” Harry glances over at Ryder, but like always, his wan face’s a complete, relaxed blank. “I trim your nose hair once, and then what? I’m on ear-hair detail for the rest of my life?”

“ _Ha. Ha. Ha... Ew_ ,” Scott says, “ _I promise that was supposed to sound like real mirth, not hideously passive aggressive_.” Harry snorts. “ _Also never. My ear’s as clean as a whistle.”_

The artificial voice still sounds odd coming from Scott, oddly tinny and high-pitched in the crowded space, but Harry has to hand it to the man — he’s good at adapting, learning how to finesse the thought-to-speech software to achieve more nuanced tones.

Both of the Ryder’s are good rolling with the punches like that. Back before Harry joined the Initiative, he was vaguely familiar with the twins through time spent with Alec. And after Harry officially joined them in the Pathfinder’s crew, they were friendly and aggressively chummy like people always get whenever you go on missions with a new crew. They have to trust you with literally their life, so why not overshare that time you got food poisoning from an asari-style hot dog you got from an undermanned fuel depot?

It’s weird not being able to remember the sound of Scott’s voice. Sara said when they speak through their SAM implants, it’s like he’s speaking directly into her mind. Harry doesn’t have fancy mind-reader powers hardwired into his grey matter, but the speech recognition mod at least let the two of them communicate when Sara was planetside. If Scott continues mending his brain trauma at the ate he's been progressing, there's a chance he'll wake up before Sara even gets the chance to hear his artificial voice to compare.

It's just… he can’t remember what Scott's voice sounds like anymore. Harry remembers liking it, for whatever that’s worth.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Harry glances around the medbay, taking quick catalogue of the items. What he really needs is an antique bone saw like he had seen as a med student… oh, _yes_. Even better.

“Fine. You obviously can’t see it at the moment, but I've been steadily drinking whiskey for the past hour.” He leans over Scott. “Shaky hands don't bother you, right?”

Harry tries not to be too gleeful as he grabs the turian surgical sonic scalpel out of a nearby container. In actual medical emergencies it did the trick and can cut a clean, straight line through turian exoskeleton, but it also makes the most God awful racket. He even gives it a test pulse, the screeching whir ripping out across the bay.

Like always, Scott doesn’t react, although he’s quick to run his mouth back. “ _Doc, you wound me. Hopefully not permanently._ ”

“Dr. Carlyle?” asks Dr. Hoxa, although ‘chides’ may be a more accurate term. Despite her shorter salarian stature, Harry can feel himself straightening up. He neatly places the scalpel back where he found it, murmuring apologies to the other patients house in the bay. Hoxa scurries off to her rounds and Harry is left with Scott’s body, suddenly aware of how much attention he was giving just one patient.

Typical. He stayed behind on the Nexus because Pathfinding was a young man’s game, but apparently being a mature member of the medical profession wasn’t an old man’s game either.

But Sara placed her life in his hands, placed her _family_ in his hands, and sauntered off to explore new galaxies and meet new murderous species. Lexi was always good at that cool, detached demeanor, even when spending too much time around soldiers. It's one of many skills she beats him in spades. Harry's too old for combat, and just too old to be antagonizing over a single patient like this. 

 

ii.

Scott wakes up.

It’s weird. It’s fucking _bizarre_. It’s… almost anticlimactic.

Harry’s projections were right. He was running some simulations with Dr. Hoxa, releasing miniscule amount of adrenaline at regular intervals until Scott just sort of opened up his eyes on his own. After so long seeing him completely motionless, Harry’s almost jolted into shock every time he looks at him now. And Scott's never _not_ moving — whether it's smiling, squinting at the bright lights, or grimacing at the protein shake the nurses force him to drink.

Harry makes sure to give Scott and his sister plenty of space when she returns, no matter how badly he itches to do a complete full body scan.

A couple of times he feels his neck prickle, like Scott’s boring holes into the back of his head, but every time he steals a glance at the Ryders, Scott seems completely engrossed in the conversation with his sister. Objectively Harry know's that's for the best, but after so long being Scott's...doctor, it's  _bizarre_ suddenly getting pushed to the sidelines. The thought creeps up in the back of Harry's mind: was he Scott's best friend these past couple weeks, or was it that Scott was _his_  only friend?

Harry impatiently checks his pad. Only a few more hours until he’s out to the new bar and get thoroughly, utterly trashed. 

 

iii.

Scott hisses as he clamps down on the rubber ball, squeezing it gently in the palm of his hand.  “Just,” he huffs, “just, you know, give me a second to collect my thoughts.”

Harry laughs. “Haven’t you exhausted all the ‘ball’ jokes yet? Just throw in the towel.”

“Running on fumes, but I’m still running, baby.”

Scott flushes and coughs. Harry refuses to let himself squirm, knowing it would just call attention to the out-of-place term of endearment. Not that he minds. Or– not that it feels too inappropriate. Calling attention to the awkwardness would _make_ it inappropriate.

“You should come over later.” Scott carefully passes the physical therapy ball to his other hand. “I have this vid I’ve been meaning to show you.”

Harry hesitates. “Are you sure? It’s not really protocol to hang out with your doctor.”

“Well, Harry, right now my only friends are my slightly busy sister and the nice robot that lives in her head. If I followed protocol, I’d be the loneliest bastard in the galaxy.”

“Glad to hear I’m the last line of defence between you and complete isolation.”

Scott chuckles. “Come on, Harry, just one vid. I’ll bring you wine, flowers, maybe a bubble bath to to relax.”

“I’m your doctor, Scott,” Harry says again, somewhat lamely.

Scott blinks rapidly. “Wait, I was just fucking with you– is. Is that actually on the table?”

“What? No!” Harry rubs the back of his neck, frustrated. It’s like his tongue got dumb and heavy in his mouth in a matter of second. “Scott, I _just_ said—”

“Just said a very nicely rehearsed statement.” He barks out a laugh. “You can’t say, like, ‘Don’t you eat the stuffing!’ and then deny that there’s a plate of stuffing on the table, just waiting to be eaten. That’s just not how Thanksgiving works.” Scott stares at him with his intense, clear eyes. Fuck. Harry vaguely remembered his voice while he was in a coma, but how the hell did he forget that _look?_  “I can see the damn plate, Harry.”

“Forget I said anything and focus on your hand exercises.” Harry pulls up his pad and somewhat convincingly goes through case files. He can barely make a word out from the screen but shuffles through as realistically as he can. “Plus, I’m way too old for you.”

Harry keeps from wincing, embarrassed at how pleading and pathetic he sounds to his own ears. Scott’s silent, eerily so.

He risks a glance over, but Scott’s just wearing the biggest, most shit-eating grin.

Scott seems to be asking something complicated with his eyes and general eyebrow area, but whatever he reads on Harry’s face seems to give him the answer he wanted. The grin shifts, going from goofy to outright lewd as he steadily rolls the rubber ball in his hand.

Well… Harry’s fucked himself.

 

iv.

“So how old _are_ you?”

Harry groans and taps his pad impatiently. “Scott, all I’m asking is for you to come to the medbay for a quick lab test, that’s all.”

“Hm, pushy. I _totally_ knew you were a Taurus,” Scott tsks, killing the comm line to cut off Harry's indignant cursing. He tries to open another channel, but Scott shuts it down immediately without connecting.

The pad pings as a message flashes on the screen. Frowning, Harry open the file attachment — a picture of Scott’s middle finger and the caption: “as a pisces I really need to distance myself from other water signs at the moment”

Harry hesitates, fingers itching. He wants to send back something catty, but the truth is, he _is_ too old. Harry was drinking buddies with Alec, for Christsake, whenever the man would let himself relax long enough to chat about the weather. It’s not like he knew the twins when they were young, but how far is taking the joke too far? He should just cut this... this weird flirting now before anything truly awkward happens.

Harry startles as alarms start blaring across the ship. Habit kicks in immediately, doing a quick sweep of the bay should triage become a necessity.

Scott’s voice rings out from the hall. Harry strides out of the rooming, knowing it must be a kett attack, even before Scott opens his mouth.

 

v.

Harry briskly walks past Scott’s bed, loosely clocking Lexi spraying Medi-gel into Scott’ arm.

Scott shoots a loopy grin Harry’s way and calls out a touch too loudly, “Where’re you going? I need some medical attention.”

“Which you’re getting from Lexi. Since _you_ wanted to be another stubbon Pathfinder hero, you get a bandage and a lollipop from the Pathfinder’s med staff.”

“C’mon, Harry. Loosen up, just once,” Scott murmurs.

Harry sighs and takes a step back to Scott’s side, grasping his ankle and letting the palm of his hand warm the skin. Lexi obviously doesn’t approve (Harry trained her too well), but she doesn’t say anything either. Harry just keeps his hand on Scott, rubbing circles into his ankle. Harry hopes to fucking God that Scott can’t feel his pulse race through his hand.

“Are we,” Scott says, pausing briefly to clear his throat, “are we doing this? Finally?”

Harry gives a dry kiss to Scott’s lips, letting that be his answer.

Scott hums. “Actually I was going to ask you to trim some hair while Dr. T’Perro lays me out with those good drugs, but I guess this works—”

Harry cuts him off again with a slightly more tongue filled kiss, but just as brief. He reluctantly pulls himself away to focus on the other patients awaiting his care. If only they had more time and less murderous kett breathing down their neck, even with the Archon displaced.

This is a bad decision. Harry _knows_ that. But he’s finding it somewhat fucking difficult to really, truly care.

 

+

“I can’t believe I’m dating a _child_ ,” Scott whines.

“I’m not the one acting like a brat,” Harry says, stilling his hands while tamping down a snort. “Do you know the last time I took a bath with running water? It’s _amazing_ , you never get this experience on the Nexus.”

“Wait, indoor plumbing was already invented when you were growing up?”

Harry gently bites Scott’s shoulder and rearranges them in the tub with minimal splashing. Took damn near a month of… mostly legal bribes to secure them two nights in one of the nicer Kadaran hotels. They’ll probably get mugged the moment they check out, but for now they can relax.

And he can get back to his task at hand, fashioning Scott’s hair into a particularly impressive mohawk with soap suds. He likes the feel of Scott’s hair, the way it’s always a bit frizzy in the dry atmo on the ship, and how it nearly reaches his earlobes, a far cry from the short buzz he had while he was in the coma.

Scott presses back against Harry’s chest and sighs, burrowing a bit deeper into his side. “This was a terrible choice.”

Harry ignores him, remodeling his soaped up hair into a classy comb over.

**Author's Note:**

> i am...... so exhausted by my day job, but I hope you enjoy the fic! first time ever doing a five-time structure. I may have something more interesting to put in the notes when I'm not literally falling asleep on my computer every night, but for now, I just want to say this was a load of fun to write <3


End file.
